Show Me The Light

The Literary Gangster is really pushing her power round here now. The 100 word story has been bumped today for a longer story. Why TLG, why? Because I can, that’s why.

Don’t ask why a thirty eight year old man such as myself has an appointment with a psychic. The thought has been playing around in my mind for a while, among many other thoughts.

The psychic’s office is on the fifth floor. I’m taking the stairs to use the extra time to think. Recently my father told me a story about when he was sixteen, he was at a fair and happened to see a psychic. The psychic foretold his death in a blue car. So all his life he has avoided owning – and even driving – blue cars. Until now. He’s given up; decided he is brave enough to hold his stand off with death, like two aged cowboys facing each other in the dust storm.

I feel as old as my father these days. Especially considering how well I get along in my own car; we are the same year model and both great at gaining speed but both a little slow on the breaks.

I reach the top of the stairs and almost slip on the landing at the sight of the psychic. She’s wearing a moomoo and a turban.

“Mr Clifford, please take a seat”.

“Thankyou Miss Tika”. She takes my hand – hers feel cold, like rubber – then she gazes out of the fifth floor window.

“Ooh. You have been feeling a lot of internal conflict between work and home life lately”.

“Yes Miss Tika”. I tried not to sound too astonished. Of course a man in a suit that has a pen leaking in the top pocket experiences conflict between work and home life.

“There’s an oppurtunity to move the business overseas,” she sounds impressed.

“Yes Miss Tika. Should I take it?”

“Your wife is unhappy. She wants to have children”.

“Yes I know”.

“Everything will be okay, you know what to do”.

Stay I suppose. Buy a second house for the hypothetical clan of offspring we always seem to end up arguing about.

“There is one problem”.

“Yes, Miss Tika?”

“I see a blue car, with yellow number plates”.

What?

“What?”

“Missing hubcap”.

Oh shit.

“Do you own this car Mr Clifford?”

“Oh god what is it? Tell me! Tell me now!”

“Well I’m afraid to say Mr Clifford, you’ve left your car lights on”.

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